"When Love is Life" 

(TAKEN FROM AN OPERATIC MS.) 

By 

GEORGE C. SIEMERS 



Published by 

SAMUEL C. JACKSON 



JACKSON PRINTING COMPANY 

Minneapolis, Minn. 



y>> 






Copyright, 1920 

by 

GEORGE C. SIEMERS 



TO <C/7£ READER 

This book is a complex narrative, 
and should be read with much 
thought and study, in order to 
attain it's deeper points of 
interest. 



DEC 17 1920 
©ClA6C38t>2 



When Love is Life 



PRELUDE 

Though Love is Life, we cannot see 
The depth of love, its mystery, 
And yet we bid, "sad heart be free, 
For love is life." 

Tis love alone, that can erase 
The marks from every care-worn face; 
And joy, in each sad heart replace, 
For love is life. 

In depths of love, no tongue can tell 
Our feelings, when a last farewell 
We speak, yet knowing all is well, 
For love is life. 













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" When Love is Life 



Is it such in this world of ours, 
We reap what we have sown? 

Or do some reap not half their share, 
Others more than their own? 



Most men of today do not look upon 
life as they really should. Some only 
see the bright side, the joys and pleasures, 
they overlook the serious parts, as though 
they do not believe life a reality but only 
a long dream. Others can only see the 
melancholy side and seem to think they 
must shed so many tears each day, spend 
a certain part of their time in bitter sor- 
row, agony, and loneliness, or they are 
not rilling their place properly. If they 
could only realize that life is that privi- 
lege given to all natural beings, to learn 
to shape themselves so they may fit best 
in the* mass of humanity and be in har- 
mony with nature, they could easily see 
both the cheery, and serious, side. 



When Love is Life ' 



Don't live all independent, men, 

Look to the child each day; 
Notice them play from morn till night, 

Don't pass them on your way. 
Who knows tjie tenderness and care 

With which they've had to part? 
Who knows their sorrows, or their pains? 

Who knows their aching heart? 

I was passing down a dusty road, 

One sunny morn in June; 
The flowers blooming everywhere, 

And song birds all in tune; 
I stopped in at a farmer's house, 

To quench my morning's thirst, 
And there I spied a weeping lad, 

As though his heart had burst. 

This boy was just a little fellow, 

Aged, about five years, 
His tiny hands up to his face, 

All wet, with bitter tears. 
With drooping head, all cuddled up, 

He on the door step sat; 
His childish, curly head was bare, 

Beside him lay his hat. 

Thus in the sun, beside the house, 

He sat there all alone; 
With specks of tears on his bare feet, 

Which slowly rolled a stone. 



When Love is Life 1 



His sobs, they were the only sounds, 

Heard on this quiet spot; 
His thoughts had carried him away, 

He saw or heard me not. 

I softly spoke; then in surprise, 

He raised his face to see; 
I questioned him. He in return, 

Explained it all to me. 
"Pa's in the field; ma, I don't know, 

She isn't dead, they say, 
If she had died, I wouldn't care, 

But she just went away." 

We may stop here and notice the life 
of a character at its various stages, and 
its changes under the influence of others. 

Was the childhood of this man I call 
Mathew Burns, ever filled with sorrow? 

This was not exactly the feeling and 
childhood life of Mathew Burns. Per- 
haps he had reason to feel more melan- 
choly. 

He was left when only a babe, to live 
with a wealthy family, Robert Gale, a 
mine owner/ 



When Love is Life' 



Mathew's mother, a young lady never 
looking toward the true side of life 
became tired of the babe and left him on 
the door steps of the Gale home and 
went to live the high life of the city, 
never more thinking of her lonely babe. 

His father, a drunken gambler, seemed 
to find contentment out in the world, 
where he would never more see the moth- 
er, or her child, thinking that life had 
greater pleasure in store for him than 
that duty of a husband and father. 

Finding the babe one morning early, 
Mrs. Gale took it into her home and life 
as though it were her own, learning its 
mother's history by a note left in the 
basket with the babe, and gave him all 
the comfort a home could offer. 

Mathew was as merry as all children, 
for some time. 



"When Love is Life" 



Mem'ries often take me back, to dear old fashion 

ways, 
I sit for hours, dreaming, of my childhood's happy 

days. 
When I would wander out, and gather flowers by 

the stream. 
When life was ever free from care and seemed as 

just a dream. 
Oh childhood days, how sweet you were, oh, why 

not come once more, 
Oh, why not be a barefoot boy, play marbles on the 

floor. 
"But Mother Nature fashions all," is just what I was 

told, 
"Each boy must grow to be a man, and some day 

shall be old." 



The time came when Mathew was 
about twelve years old, and had learned 
his history by questioning, like all chil- 
dren would have, why his name was 
Burns, instead of Gale. 



*' When Love is Life' 



But soon those happy days of youth, were changed 

and filled with care, 
Until my weary head bent low, but rest was found 

nowhere; 
No more did happy song bird's notes bring gladness 

to my ears, 
But each sweet strain of music, seemed to bring more 

bitter tears. 

After Mrs. Gale had told him every- 
thing he seemed to feel more melancholy, 
and often sat with a bowed head and a 
heavy heart, thinking that his mother 
surely did not love him, or she would 
never have left him. 

As the years rolled by, he thought 
more deeply than ever. 

Oh memories of yesterday, why do you so expell 
My visions of life's cheeriness, and bid my smiles 

farewell? 
Why do you cease to wander out, amid wild flowers 

and stream? 
Why do you bring the past as just a melancholy 

dream ? 

He began to wish he could have re- 
mained a child too young to know all 



"When Love is Life" 



this, but that did not seem to cheer him 
any. 

Mathew was now a lad of about six- 
teen, and instead of living in Philadel- 
phia, he had moved to Colorado Springs, 
where the fresh Rocky Mountain air 
seemed to swell him with new life. "Now, 
if I could only forget," he thought. 

We go back and find his mother, no 
more the beautiful young lady, but age 
is marked on her face. She has wan- 
dered from place to place, for some time, 
wishing and longing to find some trace 
of her child. 

She sat in her room thinking of noth- 
ing, but staring into a mirror for some 
time, then turned and while walking to 
the window overlooking the busy streets 
of the heart of Chicago, seemed to say to 
herself, "Oh, after all, life is nothing to 



n<*\ 



"When Love is Life" 



anyone, no one cares for me, or is glad 
to see me anymore." 

She looked out of the window for a 
moment, then heard a strain of music, 
and listening closely, heard a voice sing- 
ing: 

Evening comes, the shadows fall, 

Hiding the light of the day, 
Bringing sweet dreams, and best of all, 

Chasing all sorrow away. 

She listened with more attention while 
the chorus went on. 

Then why should tears be streaming, 
When, 'neath the love light beaming, 
Sad hearts are light, while dreaming, 
Of Love's mystery? 

Listening closely to the chorus she 
burst into tears, as if her heart ached 
bitterly, lisping "Oh, if I only would 
have loved my child; I do now, yes, I 
love him; I love him." She fell across 
the bed and wept bitterly. 



When Love is Life'* 



We now go back to the father of 
Mathew, and find him at the point of 
death, crying for mercy. His agony 
seemed to express all his past life and 
now there, in a pit of misery, cried out, 
"Oh, if I had only loved her as I should 
have. Why must I endure all this now? 
I have been free so long, why must I 
suffer now? Why must I be tortured 
by those awful thoughts which once 
seemed sweet to me? Oh God, give me 
one more chance," then quietly wept. 



ilmmimm^ 



"When Love is Life" 



A few years have passed, Mathew is 
now a young man, and taking interest in 
his business, tries to forget his past and 
melancholy dreams by looking more light- 
ly on the object of life. 

Will the song birds cease to sing, 

When you're called? 
Ne'er again be on the wing, 

When you're called? 
Will the grasses cease to grow, 
Will the winds forget to blow, 
And the streamlets cease to flow, 

When you're called? 

Will there be no more tomorrow, 

When you're called? 
And life's joys all turn to sorrow, 

When you're called? 
Will God's universe retire, 
Flowers change to thorn and brier, 
And life's weary way lift higher, 

When you're called? 

No, the song birds will not rest, 

When you're called; 
Their gay notes shall thrill our breast, 

Though you're called; 



When Love is Life 



When the night has passed away, 
There will dawn another day, 
Still each one will go his way, 
Though you're called. 

Folks will soon forget you're gone, 

When you're called; 
Joys and sorrows will roll on, 

Though you're called; 
While you sleep beneath the sod, 
Men o'er life's dense field shall trod, 
To prove there is a living God, 

Though you're called. 

So look up to the pale blue sky, 

When you're called; 
May there be no tear-dimmed eye , 

When you're called; 
When you reach the last long mile, 
Light up with a happy smile, 
And whisper, "Life was worth it's while," 

When you're called. 

The last rays of sun had faded and 
the ghostly mountain peaks pointed up 
to the clear evening sky, haunting all 
the valley life. A faint breeze crept 



"When Love is Life 



through the pines, while the pale moon 
looked down with a smile. 

Mathew sat out in the garden, beneath 
the trees, in sorrow. His thoughts had 
carried him away. In his hand he held 
a letter which he had read over and over, 
trying to think it was not really true, but 
each time it bore deeper into his heart, 
the words, "Forgive me if I have encour- 
aged your affection, but do forget me, 
for I am leaving at once and think it is 
for the best, because I never did really 
love you." 

Thus he sat dreaming of the many 
happy hours he had spent with his sweet- 
heart, and now all air castles had fallen. 

Only a dream, only a dream, 

How could we ever part? 
How could all sunshine turn to rain, 

And each have a broken heart? 

He looked up at the stars and tried to 



When Love is Life' 



forget, but was touched by a voice sing- 
ing, at a distance. 

How happy were those hours of love, 
When we would watch the stars above; 
Those dreams, that made my life so sweet, 
When my eyes those of yours would meet. 
All day, while birds sang in the tree, 
Your sweet face seemed to smile on me; 
But now, how strange it all has grown, 
Your love has vanished, I'm alone. 

And the chorus went on: 

Oh! If I only knew 
That those dear eyes of blue, 
Could only catch my smiles again, 
I would not think life was in vain. 
But as the dew at break of day, 
My tears fall on life's pathway, 
My life will all a burden be 
Unless you will return to me. 

Mathew said to himself, "How true," 
then listened closely as it went on. 

How lonely now my life does seem, 
I sometimes think 'twas all a dream 
That haunts me; and always in sight, 
It robs me of my sleep at night. 
You break my heart each day anew, 



"When Love is Life" 



To let me see those eyes of blue; 
Shall all my days be dark with rain? 
Oh! Why not love me once again? 

He now sat silently dreaming for a 
moment, then strolled up to the house 
and went into the library, but did not 
turn on the light. He seemed to be 
nearly exhausted, and sat down in the 
dark, resting his head on his hands, with 
his elbows on his knees. 

He sat this way for some time in deep 
sorrow, then it seemed, he heard a voice. 

To you, sad heart, with sorrow bent, expell that grief, 

and pain; 
Do you not know tomorrow's sun shall drive away 

all rain? 

Now he raised his head and asked, 
"Who is it speaking with such a com- 
forting tongue?" and in answer came, 
"I am the optimistic voice of conscience. 
I have come to soothe your feelings, look 
around and read." 



When Love is Life 1 



Mathew looked around and saw in 
large script: 

God's universe will not retire, or mourn when you 

are gone; 
But men, like ocean billows, o'er life's trials shall 

roll on; 
And at the end, like bubbles, each shall burst and 

fade away, 
To prove that life is not a dream. Here dawns another 

day; 
That you may launch your sturdy boat and swing 

the ruddy oar; 
To journey down life's winding stream, and see the 

past no more. 

He didn't have to read this many 
times to understand it, as Mathew was 
very bright, and as a college graduate 
understood his reading quite easily, and 
grasped its deeper meaning. He dwelt 
upon this thought for some time, then 
went to bed. 

Mrs. Gale noticed the strange action 
of the young man, for she understood as 
a mother does, every move, and every 



When Love is Life" 



expression. She sat talking to her hus- 
band, and trying, in some way, to figure 
a way of comforting him. 

The next day he began to doubt wheth- 
er or not there really was any love in 
this cold world. In a conversation, to 
Mrs. Gale he spoke, "She does not love 
me, and my mother does not love me. 
I'm almost exhausted, my love's purse is 
almost empty. I have loved, loved, loved, 
always, everyone and everything, and in 
return, have not received enough to hold 
on. I must stop,'* he said. 



"When Love is Life 



And now, to see the other side, this is a grand old 

life, 
It's pleasant, although ever filled, with many a toil 

and strife; 
But man can never be content, and always wants to 

roam, 
Unless, with true companionship, he finds a home, 

sweet home. 



Mathew had laid plans to go to New 
York, but shortly before train time he 
received a wire, asking him to go to 
Denver on business. 

This suited him also, for why should 
he care where he went, just so he went 
somewhere to try to forget his sorrow. 

Mathew did go to Denver and when he 
returned was surprised to find a rather 
elderly lady there at the Gale home. 

While he was gone, Mr. Gale found 
this lady seated at his gate one evening. 
She seemed to be weary and bent with 
sorrow, touched by the memories of a 



When Love is Life' 



piece she had often heard. 

Silvery moon may leave the skies, 
And though the stars may be gone, 

Morn's golden sun shall soon arise, 
Life's joy and sorrow, roll on. 

Then why should tears be streaming, 
When 'neath the love light beaming, 
Sad hearts are light, while dreaming, 
Of love's mystery. 

As he drew near, she moved, as if 
going to leave. He noticed her strange- 
ness, and without much questioning, she 
began to tell him everything, but before 
she had only commenced, she fainted. He 
picked her up and took her into his house 
and after an inquiry was unable to dis- 
cover just who she was. 

Several days had passed and the old 
lady had again regained her strength, but 
not yet strong enough to go. 

She had several short visits with 
Mathew and seemed to be quite inter- 



"When Love is Life 



ested in his personality and character. 
She wondered if her son was anything 
like this man, but tried to keep her 
thought a secret and especially away from 
everyone except Mrs. Gale. 

Away from her, Mathew often let his 
memory drift back and dwell upon his 
fancies of what the reality of his grave 
mystery may be. 

"Love does not mean life only to the lover, but 
to the receiver of love." 

It was at the close of another fair day. 
Mathew sat reading in the library, Mrs. 
Gale and the strange lady were seated in 
the garden, where they could view the 
huge, dull peaks of the Rockies, point- 
ing up to the heavens, as if supporting 
the clear, blue sky, and standing firmly 
braced as if to keep watch while all the 
world slumbered. 

After talking a few moments, Mrs. 



" When Love is Life" 



Gale made a statement in regard to the 
discovery of the young man when only a 
babe, at her doorsteps. She said, "I have 
no children of my own but I think of 
Mathew as though he were mine.'* 

The poor lady listened very closely to 
the brief story, then, too eager to hold 
her boy in her arms, leaped from her 
chair as if touched by some magic power, 
ran to the house and entered the library, 
crying, "My boy, my boy, oh yes, my 
boy." She threw her arms about him 
and clung to him with all her feeble 
strength, screaming, then fainted. 

Mathew was somewhat shocked at 
this, but Mrs. Gale entering, explained, 
while the young man held the limp body 
close to him, mentally debating as to 
whether this was a reality or only a 
dream. 



' ' When Love is Life ' 



They placed his mother quietly to bed 
and watched o'er her all through the 
long, quiet night. 

Morning's sun arose and looked down 
upon a face wrinkled with care, but with 
a fond look of contentment in the bright 
and happy eyes of a loving mother, now 
no more the careless and heartless young 
woman of the underworld. 

This day was the happiest of all days 
to her, but to Mathew it still was clouded 
with one dark spot, yet he felt much 
happier than usual. 

The Jay was almost gone. The sun 
was drawing near the mountain peaks 
and the soft mountain breeze of the 
evening was beginning to whisper in the 
pines, telling to the world that night 
was drawing near. 

The young man watched the last rays 
of sun disappear, and in the purple and 



When Love is Life' 



gold of the west, seen through his tears, 
of joy and yet sorrow, a panorama of 
what used to be. "Is it possible, or is 
life only a dream?" he asked himself. 

He tried to feel fully comfortable, but 
the thought that this was supposed and 
planned to be his wedding day, made it 
difficult for him to be happy. 

For some time he strolled in the gar- 
den, as though moved by some force 
which had handicapped him and yet 
making him feel victorious. He turned 
and had started toward the house, when 
a car drove up. It was a messenger boy 
with a message. 

Taking the message he eagerly broke 
the seal and read, "I can stand it no 
longer. I did not realize how I loved you 
until I tried to forget you. I am coming 
to you at once. Remember this is our 



When Love is Life' 



wedding day." It was signed Lillian 
Joslin. 

He looked up and a second car had 
arrived. Nearing it, he was met by his 
sweetheart who ran to his arms. All was 
explained in one caress, and forgiven in 
another. While a voice at a distance 
sang: 

Only a dream, only a dream; 

How sweet it all has grown; 
Now that we live as one again, 

And vowed ne'er to live alone. 

Those pleasing smiles I always see, 
Those dreamy eyes, they look at me, 
That throbbing breast, where once was pain, 
Now heaves with joy and love, again. 

After that happy day, Mathew looked 
up many times into the face of the sky, 
content that he had learned there was 
some love in the world for him. 

Many were the days that left the bright 
sun shine down upon the happy hearts, 



When Love is Life' 



which were once bent under the dark 
cloud of sorrow. 

Many were the evenings that let the 
pale, silvery moon smile down upon light 
hearts lying down to sweet dreams. 



How sweet it is to have a pal, with whom you never 

part, 
One whom you tell your troubles to, and whom you 

gave your heart; 
How joyful. Then the years roll on as peaceful as a 

stream, 
When you have learned that "Love is Life," and life 

is not a dream. 

— Geo. C. Siemers. 



When Love is Life" 
(PLOT POEM) 



Mem'ries often take me back, to dear old fashion 

ways, 
I sit for hours, dreaming, of my childhood's happy 

days. 
When I would wander out, and gather flowers by 

the stream. 
When life was ever free from care and seemed as 

just a dream. 
Oh childhood days, how sweet you were, oh, why 

not come once more, 
Oh, why not be a barefoot boy, play marbles on the 

floor. 
"But Mother Nature fashions all," is just what I was 

told, 
"Each boy must grow to be a man, and some day 

shall be old." 

But soon those happy days of youth, were changed 

and filled with care, 
Until my weary head bent low, but rest was found 

nowhere; 
No more did happy song bird's notes bring gladness 

to my ears, 
But each sweet strain of music, seemed to bring more 

bitter tears. 



Oh memories of yesterday, why do you so expell 
My visions of life's cheeriness, and bid my smiles 

farewell? 
Why do you cease to wander out, amid wild flowers 

and stream? 
Why do you bring the past as just a melancholy 

dream ? 



And then the voice of conscience spoke, "Sad heart 

expel that pain, 
Do you not know tomorrow's sun shall drive away 

all rain? 
God's universe will not retire, or mourn when you are 

gone, 
But men, like ocean billows, o'er life's trials shall 

roll on; 
And at the end, like bubbles, each will burst and fade 

away, 
To prove that life is not a dream. Here dawns 

another day, 
That we may launch our sturdy boat and ply the 

ruddy oar, 
To v journey down life's winding stream and see the 

past no more.'* 



And now, to see the other side, this is a grand old 

life, 
It's pleasant, although ever filled, with many a toil 

and strife; 
But man can never be content, and always wants to 

roam, 
Unless, with true companionship, he finds a home, 

sweet home. 
How sweet it is to have a pal, with whom you never 

part, 
One whom you tell your troubles to, and whom you 

gave your heart; 
How joyful. Then the years roll on as peaceful as a 

stream, 
When you have learned that "Love is Life,** and life 

is not a dream. 

— Geo. C. Siemers. 




■ 



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mm. 



